By virtue of being a Greene County resident, there’s knowledge we take for granted that may not be apparent to outsiders. Important certainties, like knowing it will rain on July 29th, the demolition derby at the fair will be the largest attended event in the county, and that the Bucktown Elbow is not to be trifled with.
The latter, as the title of the article would suggest, is the subject of this particular discourse. We all know it, and the mere mention of its name conjures up images of the very serious threat of “Don’t make me bust out the Bucktown Elbow.”
The invoking of these words instantly changes the stakes in the game. The bar for whatever situation is evolving becomes higher at this point. Additionally, if the perpetrator of the potential Bucktown Elbow begins slapping their elbow with the opposite hand, something known in inner circles as “priming it,” the power rises with each subsequent tap.
It’s clear and common knowledge that anything above three primes would be complete overkill for any situation most mortals would find themselves in. What is less clear, however, is the origins of this great arbitrator of conflict. This is where the waters of 10 Mile and Dunkard Creek get murkier.
So a hot-topic question surrounding the Bucktown Elbow is where it all began. The answer isn’t a simple one. Like many things in small towns, there are a lot of spirited theories and definitive opinions that are easy to disprove under scrutiny. Third-hand information from one’s uncle’s buddy who was there when it all happened down by Scott’s Delite doesn’t exactly constitute scientific proof no matter how convincing said uncle’s buddy is of the merits of his opinion.
There’s been scuttlebutt that it corresponds with the Attitude Era of the WWE and Rock’s People’s Elbow. That didn’t happen until the late ’90s though, and I can verify that it already was being employed to settle four-square disputes at Margaret Bell Miller Middle School in the late ’80s. So, if anything, the Rock may have stolen it from us, which is probably why his evolution to a big screen film actor was so successful.
I can’t verify any sightings prior to those MBM Middle School days. They exist like Sasquatch or Mothman. People swear they are around, but there’s little evidence beyond anecdotal accounts that this is true. As a carrier of the sacred Bucktown Elbow brand tattooed as such on my elbow, I do have greater insight than many.
I’ve long studied the craft of the elbow under some of the most noble and wise Bucktown prophets who meander and exist in the Westside Triangle of Bucktown Beer, the stockyards, and the falls. The best I can explain it is that the Bucktown Elbow has always been here. It’s a power we can call upon, but never own or really master. Think of it like Danny Rand’s use of the Iron Fist in the Marvel Comics universe – he can summon it when necessary.
I should mention that it’s not the only devastating finishing move in Greene County. Others exist, like the Southside Sleeper, Khuntown Clutch, and Blairtown Bomb. They just simply have never caught on with the same vigor, and they have a fraction of the pageantry that accompanies the Bucktown Elbow.
Truth be told, we can sit around and debate where and when it started, but there’s one thing that is undebatable: as Greene County OGs, we have an extra tool at our disposal as we walk through the chaotic valley of life in the form of the Bucktown Elbow. Respect it, use it wisely, and definitely never teach it to any outsiders.
Adam “Joad” Corwin is a 9th degree Bucktown Elbow master, 10th Planet and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu practitioner, idiot savant of combat sports, Highlander universe knowledge, Klingon battle culture, random music trivia, and the frontman of national touring band Scattered Hamlet. If you disagree with his positions, you’re probably wrong or misinformed.
